


Gay Mushroom

by Jemppu



Series: Months [24]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr, and of"Months"moments, taking place before the couple's ultimate Discovery mission.The couple discuss supposed nature of themselves across universes.With illustration:"In Any Universe"
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Months [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1082124
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Gay Mushroom

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## Months: Gay Mushroom

Paul sits on the beach in the darkness of the evening, watching the white foaming waves glimmer on the dark blue ocean surface.

With the sky mostly overcast, the only lights surrounding the scene are the ones shining from the windows of his rented cabin further up the beach behind him, and the dim street lamps scarcely lined along the edge of the shore even further.

Few stray sparks of light along the shore line from neighboring cabins are present too, but those appear but faint and distant like ships on the sea.

Years ago beach fronts like this used to be littered with much more houses. One property right next to another, fighting over any available spot of land. That was before star travel became more convenient and living off-planet an enticing possibility for many looking for the next luxury real-estate. Or travelling after jobs.

It’s quiet. Serenely so. Not silent, but soothingly calm. Subtle sensations of nature surround the scene. The waves roll in with a pleasantly steady hum and retreat with a faint, playful sizzle. The wind is smooth and soft on the skin. The air fresh, but not bitterly so. The temperature feels it’s just perfect, the humidity too.

His kiddos would think this too dry, but they never had to stand for clothing annoyingly clinging to skin in moist air.

Paul glimpses up to the sky. But even if it happened to be directly overhead, there’s no way to see Discovery’s docking station through the veil of clouds.

There they are now however, his kids - or what’s left of them, Stella mostly: in their new garden in the cargo hold of the still unrefined ship, behind well guarded doors.

In the calm of the scene, over the sway of the waves, Paul hears faintly behind him as the door of the cabin in distance opens and closes. He smiles to himself for the inescapable resulting thought: fuck, how he is a lucky man.

He listens the porch wood creak, and follows the faint footsteps on the sand approach him, letting them get closer without turning to acknowledge.

He can sense the man only few steps away now, but keeps his focus on the horizon in the dark far distance in front of him, savoring the blessed sensation of being loved now washing over him.

Suddenly there’s something soft laid over Paul’s shoulders, and a question: “Honey, are there _“gay”_ mushrooms?“

Paul can almost hear a chuckle in the doctor’s voice as Hugh sits next to the dreaming man on the beach sand, while the warmth of a jacket envelopes Paul the way he didn’t even realize he might’ve needed all along.

“What?” Paul turns to the man, wrapping into the garment, and fully welcoming the unexpected comfort. Not that he was expecting any specific kind of greeting, but this sure came random.

“Homosexual”, Hugh flashes his PADD to the curiously confused man.

“No… I got that part”, Paul raises an eyebrow in acknowledgement of the file open on the man’s reader, “Not one of your usual trashy novels, I take it?”

“Far from it: I was reading on some collected social studies on human sexuality from the turn of 20th and 21st century”, Hugh dims the PADD screen, his gaze spacing out.

So, nothing to do with mushrooms, Paul surmises.

“You ever thought about any of that?” Hugh sighs from his deliberation, “Of how being _“gay”_ could possibly affect your self?“

“Can’t say I have really”, Paul shrugs, slightly amused by the dated colloquialism of the centuries old term he mustn’t have heard in decades, “hasn’t ever seemed relevant”.

“I’m sure your foreparents would be delighted to hear that”, Hugh remarks thoughtfully, putting the device aside.

“Hear what?”

“Of your indifference”, the doctor leans back, resting on his hands and observes the pale man’s features, strikingly sharp against the darkness, “How we, the society as a whole, are living beyond their dreams by not having to have something so primal to individual’s nature be an issue, or for it to dictate one’s trajectory in life”.

Paul is struck momentarily wordless by the unexpectedly profound reply. “Well…”, he utters in thought.

“A dream or not, I can appreciate that humanity hasn’t for long now felt the need to waste precious time and resources trying to prove and accept something so trivial about itself. But gets to concentrate on higher aspirations instead”, he then remarks, quite surprised by the existence of such words within himself, “imagine, if we were still stuck on figuring out our own nature - how we would’ve ever been able to move forward?”.

“See, it wasn’t trivial to **them** ”, Hugh’s reply is quick, sounding almost defensive, “It’s thanks to our ancestors’ pioneering in human rights centuries ago that has us all equality now”.

“I know, Dear, I know. I haven’t forgotten all of my social history studies”, Paul pats the man’s thigh, smiling jovially at Hugh’s sudden apparent devotion. “But so it was just as much the result of our ancestors from centuries ago, to ever establish and uphold such unnaturally occurring boundaries, unjustly persecuting any certain category they decided unacceptable at any given time”.

Must have been a captivating read that, to get Hugh so drawn to such archaic sensibilities over something which shouldn’t have ever been an issue in the first place, weren’t it for man’s self-set obstacles.

“It is an unfortunate fact, indeed, that past mistakes often get repeated once forgotten. But for past achievements to fade into the obscurity of normalcy seems a beneficial step for progress”, Paul deliberates, his eyes wandering back to the waves, “Couple hundred years from now most people will regard the breakthroughs of our times with such casualness as well. Adapt to them, and accept nothing less”.

“I would hope”, he adds off-handedly after a pause. Isn’t that a sure sign of betterment - that the next generation would hold the last ones’ accomplishments as their base, and build upon them? It’s the kind of thing that is often hard for those to adjust to, who didn’t grow up with the same norms. Very definition of generational divide.

“By getting past ourselves and from focusing on our differences, we’ve been free to move forward as a collective human culture”, Paul continues with a soothingly steady narration, “And quite literally move off of this rock and beyond stars”.

Like the many from this very beach.

Hugh regards the man’s relaxed state with a pleased smile. Listening the man calmly paint a picture of his mind, helps ease Hugh’s nerves, which the doctor didn’t even realize before just now, had gotten so unusually strung up.

The silence gets Paul to turn to look at Hugh, and he is gladdened by the beautiful smile he encounters, looking back up at him.

“Where’d you pick that to read anyway?”, Paul then asks with a jolly sneer, reaching for the PADD on the sand, and tabs the screen on. “I remember my uncle using that term a lot”, he remarks, “but then again, he was well into all that late 20th century western cultural history: the music - as you know -, the politics on war, sexual revolution, women’s rights, desegregation of social races, and such”, he explains, while turning to the cover page. “I have to admit, I’ve never spent much time studying on that particular era of human history, beyond what was mandatory”.

“Mm-hmm”, Hugh hums knowingly, smiling at the man seemingly preoccupied with new curiosity, “all that _‘irrelevant human drama’_ to take away your time from the sciences, right?”

“Can you imagine. Such petty arguing over so many arbitrarily set rules over time, in the face of wonder of life itself”, Paul shucks self-assertively from his browsing, “quite insignificant in the span of all existence”.

“But you’ve never been at all curious?” Hugh regards the man hastily skipping through the pages, “of what it is that makes you _you_. And why specifically homosexual? I mean, you **are** , aren’t you?”

Paul smiles and shrugs to himself: of course that’s fascinating, for the sheer nature of it, - without added complications of contemporary societal indications of any era -, but such closely personal soul searching feels it had been left in the far background for him. His inner self or what ever label to slap on it having seemed rather insignificant in the scope of mysteries of the wider universe. Who’s he to question or classify the decisions nature has made for him?

Or has it been perhaps something he’s avoided to examine, in fear of what he could find? His humanity potentially something disrupting of his work flow or concentration, if focused on too much. The work - continuation of which he had always held essential in keeping his state of mind stable and centered. Sometimes to a manic degree, he admits.

Until more recently anyway, when this gift of a man had brought such close, personal joy to his world, and proven Paul’s stressing for the sole importance of work quite nonessential. Freeing his mind to wonderful new dreams and possibilities, which he had never before imagined he could by himself alone possess, imprisoned in the supposed necessity of his preoccupations as he had been.

“Well, yes”, Paul shuts the PADD and lays it back on the sand, his thoughts filling him with a pleasant feeling of contentment. “As all empirical evidence would indicate, in this universe I am indeed homosexual”, he states in the matter-of-fact manner characteristic to him, his eyes following the swirl of the waves by his feet, while his hands do their customary explanatory gesturing, “but surely that alone isn’t what makes me _me_ ”.

Hugh smiles to himself, amused by the pedantry of the man’s reply. _“In this universe”_? Only from Paul’s mind would he think something like that a reasonable specification.

“What I would consider makes any one of us who we are, is a unique combination of several factors within each of us”, Paul seems keen to explain.

“And of all the things, that the neurons and hormones and transmitters within me personally contribute to, the sexual attraction they dictate seems to have always been quite low in importance on the list of things to define me”.

“Rather dormant until… you know: **you** ”, Paul adds, his focus just then as if confirming his statement, by throwing a brief appreciative side-eye to the man next to him, taking note of the admittedly enticing way the formfitting shirt hugs Hugh’s body.

“But not **completely** nonexistent”, Hugh smiles at the man warmly, with a hint of question in his remark, while seemingly either oblivious of Paul’s gaze or choosing not to acknowledge it.

Paul hums in agreement. No, not completely nonexistent, he smiles back, amused by this hopelessly carnal side of himself after all: by all the ways it had manifested before without him accepting to take note of it, and by the ways it now makes some of his past convictions seem exceedingly hypocritical.

“Well, I’m glad to have helped you find your _**‘drive’** _”, the doctor shucks with a playful raise of brows.

“Oh, I’ve had **plenty** of _‘drive’_ ”, Paul retorts with a self-assured tone, “otherwise how do you think I’d be this far now? About to head to the far reaches of the galaxy to hone my craft, as it were”.

“Stop deflecting. You know the kind I was referring to”, Hugh teases, still apparently unaware of how correct he is even right now, or just playing Paul by feigning ignorance of the eyes keenly measuring him, “Active or not, it’s still a part of what makes you _you_ ”.

“ **One** thing among numerous others”, Paul belittles the notion, his lingering concupiscent thought then fading into the background as this latest stubborn insistence takes hold, “Something so rudimentary and uninvolving my consciousness, that to regard it would be like celebrating the ability to grow nails”.

Hugh can’t help but to laugh at the man, delighted by how comfortingly familiar he finds the absurdity of such analogy from Paul by now. “You liken your attraction to me to growing nails?” Something so inescapably typical of Paul.

“The sexual attraction as a whole”, Paul nods in casual confirmation, ignoring the doctor’s mirth, “I’m saying, that in it’s core it is like having any other such inherent feature: a reflex to breath, an ability to see, a sense of touch…”.

“I wouldn’t care for such accomplishments of the universe alone to dictate who I am, but rather have things of my own choice and making define me”.

Hugh keeps smiling along the man’s haughty trail of thought. “ _“Paul Stamets - accomplishment of the universe or a self-made man”_ “, the doctor teases, “I’m sure you make the universe a proud parent despite such arrogant attitude towards your biological inheritance”.

Paul smiles pleased. Not many would get to speak to him the way Hugh does, and leave Paul feel completely at ease without need for snarky comeuppance.

“Still…”, Hugh considers, “what ever you **do** create and accomplish, you do so by using the tools given to you”, the doctor points out, “wouldn’t it seem ungrateful to completely disregard them?”

Paul contemplates the idea. Appreciative for the man’s quick wit and continued ability to keep him on check, he sighs. “You’re right, of course”, he turns to see Hugh’s sympathetic smile. "I don’t mean to say I wouldn’t feel grateful for great number of _‘gifts bestowed upon me’_ “, Paul gestures in satiric grandioseness.

“Like my scientific curiosity. Drive for perfection - how ever frustratingly unattainable. Creativity. My brain’s ability to store data in a distinct pattern, to then allow the implementation of said data to use effectively…”, he lists more somberly. “Though…”, he then as if interrupts the thought, “I must still take **some** credit for perfecting these tools in practice”.

Hugh regards the man amused, with somewhat expectant look on his face: _and…?_

Paul averts his gaze, turning back to the ocean, smiling for what’s on his mind waiting to be said, and fully aware of Hugh’s eyes observing him, “and yes, fuck it all, even the sexual drive has become something to appreciate. As of late”.

Hugh laughs, and nudges Paul acknowledgingly. The man may be stubborn at times, but still mindful enough to continuously re-assess himself to recognize a stuck-up idea. As should only be expected of any scientific mind of his caliber.

“It’s not arrogance”, Paul adds solemnly, recalling Hugh’s previous remark, and barely audible, as if trying to actualize an idea to himself, “If anything, it’s awareness, that such gifts must be cultivated, and something achieved with them for them to mean anything”.

“But **even** then”, Paul picks up on his original thought, turning to look at Hugh assertively, “I abhor the idea, that my attraction to you would be purely a result of my sexual wiring alone”.

Hugh replies to the man’s gaze intrigued, “sure…?”.

Alluring as Hugh’s maleness may be to his most basic instincts, there has to be more than that to the romantic attraction, Paul thinks, turning back to face the waves thoughtfully. Something specific to Hugh, and something in Paul which recognizes that.

“To try and define that attraction would be to try and define love itself”, Paul states, gazing up to catch a glimpse of stray stars through a passing thin veil of clouds above.

Hugh regards the man, quite struck by the sudden change of tone in his honey’s demeanor, then smiles for how Paul’s reasoning keeps surprising him in the most endearing ways. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried”, the doctor finally manages a blithe reply, “sitting here in the dark by yourself with that mind of yours”.

Paul smiles back, “Oh, so you know”.

No, it’s not completely untrue - Paul thinks -, how intrusive his mind can be, **especially** in matters he’d perhaps rather not occupy himself with. The fucker refuses to take anything for granted. A gift as much as it is a curse.

The night is creeping up on the couple, starting to get colder. They should probably move inside soon, and Paul realizes that’s likely why Hugh came to check on him in the first place. But the soft darkness and the lull of the ocean are too soothing still for Paul to give into the chill. He stubbornly stays put, gazing to the horizon dreamily while clutching to the edges of the jacket, to prevent it from being picked up by the steadily increasing winds.

“What about those other universes?” Hugh asks, shifting Paul back from his thoughts.

“What?”

“You were so ready to specify _“in this universe”_ ”, Hugh reminds.

Paul smiles concededly and sighs. “Just general existential pondering”.

“You think there are worlds out there, where you are **not** homosexual?”

“Well…”. _Yes._

“…someone more or less like me, I’d suppose”, Paul hesitates, unsure if he’d be able to properly explain himself to the man, who might currently have some newly formed expectations for the reply, “To try to assess that, one would first need to define the parameters of _“me”_ “.

“I don’t like to think there would be any other _“me”_ apart from this me right here”, Paul explains, “this unique combination of all the things that continue to make me, with my biological structure, and my experiences and memories Planck second to Planck second, which can’t be said to exist in any other parallel universe”.

“But, in various universes the chain of life that lead to me here, would alter greatly and result in many of my supposed counterparts being something completely different: females, sexless beings, or self-multiplying… could such life forms of any and every kind reach consciousnesses like mine at some point?”, Paul’s hands are busy explaining, “How many steps of separation would it take for any other _“me”_ to be still considered a variable of me? Biologically or circumstantially. Where does the line between me and someone else go?“

“And what does that mean for the past me, even in this universe alone? If all of my experienced life combined is the me today, this minute. Was I then a different man twenty years ago? Five minutes ago? If I share every past instant with the _“me”_ of alternative universes, where does the line go, which distinguishes us from each other?”

Hugh shrugs to the litany of proposed intricacies, which almost feel like intended to distract - deter further questioning. If he didn’t know the man better. “Well, I’m supposing universes, where life lead to the point of _“Paul Stamets”_ , a human male, like this one here whom I love”, the doctor rubs Paul’s shoulder affectionately.

“And the man, who loves you”, Paul’s reply is immediate and assured.

“Do you think there **are** other _“me”_? How ever much _‘like me’_ , even as a child of my exact parents there’s quite a few chances any _“me”_ would be a totally different person: varied stages in early development to alter my composition. Even my sex always about a fifty-fifty chance”.

Paul is struck by a thought of how silly it suddenly feels to parse this together to a man of Hugh’s level of intellect and education - to a doctor.

“Regardless of what ever I might _like_ , with the possibility of countless universes out there with _“Paula Stamets”_ or such, it’s only logical to assume a great number of the counterparts would come with varied types of sexuality as well”, Paul shrugs, “just as they would come with varied levels of intellect, aspirations, inherent sense of morals… any number of imaginable things”.

Hugh’s lips curve in against themselves to form a slight expression of impugnment on the man’s face.

“You don’t think there could be **one** isolated quality in you, that your counterparts across all universes would share?” Hugh continues his pondering, “one thing unique to _“P. Stamets”_ “.

 _No._ "Most unlikely. Given the nature of infinity”, Paul answers without much hesitation, sensing some fishing on Hugh’s part, and his mind unwilling to participate to the prompt for such kind of romanticism in expense of logic.

“That kind of sentimentality is rather extremist, and really only serves those tricked into attaching their self-worth strongly to any certain aspect, shifting their focus to that feature alone, inhibiting ability to imagine any yet unknown possibilities beyond the limitations set to that element, thus compromising their overall objectivity, and often too any potential for self-improvement. Ultimately leaving them to a state of stagnation”, Paul answers unapologetically, the ‘harsh truth’ part of his brain triggered, “Cosmos has none such human biases”.

“And when you think about it”, Paul goes on, “even if there **were** to be one unique thing to make each creature across universes who they are, that thing would need to be something highly specific - something far more intricate than what we’ve ever been able to categorize, so as not to be repeatable, ever”, he proposes. “As broadly shared aspect as any one from our currently held limited arrangement of preassigned definitions of sexualities alone couldn’t possibly be an individual defining factor”.

A sudden gust of wind from the ocean travels past the couple just then, bringing a front of stronger waves to the shore, then picking up and swirling around the sand further up the beach behind the two.

Paul turns to look at the silent man next to him, and feels slight quilt for what he thinks he sees in Hugh’s eyes: sign of disappointment or slight existential confusion perhaps. Paul knows his ungarnished approaches may seem hopelessly dreary to the romantic man sometimes.

He shifts himself closer to Hugh and puts his arm comfortingly around the man.

“The fact that I acknowledge the likelihood of counterparts to me in different universes, with vastly varying qualities, or the fact that this ‘actual me’ doesn’t necessarily base his identity so firmly on his sexuality, does not diminish his true feelings for you in **any** way.”

Hugh smiles faintly to Paul, thankful, sensing the man’s concern for him and feeling slightly ridiculous for it being so welcome, or at all necessary.

“ _“His”_?“, the doctor chuckles for the level of detachment the man is capable of, even in a discussion of this personal nature, but delighted for the fact that Paul feels so invested. Paul shrugs in response, recognizing Hugh’s thought.

“Sorry. Of course not, honey”, Hugh then replies to the man’s earnestness, “I wouldn’t imply that”.

He couldn’t; the scope of Paul’s thinking clearly extending beyond Hugh’s own range of existential imagining, whether the man realizes it or not - insisting he hasn’t spared a thought for the matter. Perhaps by Paul’s own level of standards he hardly has.

“In fact”, Paul seems keen to go on, “I’d argue, it asserts my specific sexual encoding in this universe even more firmly, for it to exist as it is, in spite of all other possibilities. Or it to be just as true without me having to have to somehow affirm it or construct my whole self around it: as - like you said - just another part of me, like the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice”.

“All in-built and genuine, without any unnecessary fanfare or questionability”, he concludes calmly.

Hugh tries to carefully assess the man, to see if this is the sort of resigned calm Paul sometimes displays, when tired of a topic. He feels sorry for perhaps having gotten the man so defensive over a thing he has likely never had a reason to concern himself with.

“I wasn’t questioning it, honey”, Hugh rubs the man’s shoulder softly, despite determining him nothing but genuinely relaxed. Perhaps this is to soothe Hugh’s own psyche more than Paul’s.

Still, how ever much Paul occasionally may act or claim to be indifferent to what others think of him, Hugh’s opinion clearly seems to matter, “I know you are a man of much more significance, than mere primal encoding”, the doctor assures.

“But since you brought them up: I do love your **eyes** too”, Hugh purrs, leaning in closer to the man.

“Well, then. In case there was any doubt of my _‘default settings’_ …”, Paul mutters, smiling playfully, and leans in to meet the man with a kiss, while his hand wanders down and around the doctor, to rest on Hugh’s waist appreciatively.

Hugh smiles into the kiss. “Didn’t you **just** say the matter needed no proof?”, the doctor laughs once free from the assertive lip-lock.

“Only acting according to my most basic instincts”, Paul smirks, patting the man’s hip affectionately.

Hugh leans in for another kiss. He puts his arm around Paul and rubs the man’s bare arm beneath the jacket, unsure if it’s windchill or excitement he’s sensing on Paul’s skin. Likely a combination of both.

Another gust from the ocean interrupts the couple, who share an acknowledging smile. Making out would be better moved indoors, away from the increasingly bitter night winds.

Neither still seem willing to move from under the now slowly clearing skies however. Not just yet.

“But let’s say there was a defining factor, which made _“you”_ you, across all universes”, Paul decides to humor the idea all of a sudden, “Which would you have yours be, if you got to choose?”

“I…, I have to say I’ve never really thought about the possibility of _“me”_ in other universes”, Hugh hesitates, surprised by the man’s sudden eagerness to reflect on what to Paul must seem purely hypothetical - ‘unnecessary folly’ not directly linked to a prospect of results -, something which the man rarely has much patience for.

“I guess it would be quite an identity crisis to find out if there were other me out there”, Hugh tries to imagine a situation.

“Counterparts. Not you specifically. Important distinction to keep in mind”, Paul specifies, “You are still the only you, after all - no-one else”.

“But, if there **was** that one thing to describe you”, Paul ponders, “I would like to think it had something to do with your compassion, perhaps”, he suggests, with a faint smile, which strikes Hugh with it’s sudden, almost uncharacteristic coyness.

“Aww, honey. I like that”, Hugh’s smiling gaze looks directly into the man’s eyes, fascinated by the vulnerability he sees within, while his hand moves to play on the front of Paul’s halfway open button-down shirt.

Paul regards the hand, the usual resolve returning to his eyes. “And not least because it could be one of the scarce reasons why a dick like me continues to have any chance with a man like you”, he smirks with a much more familiarly overt tone again.

Hugh huffs amused in recognition of the man, and dismisses the borderline self-demeaning remark with an affectionate slap on the man’s chest.

“You?” the doctor then asks with a warm smile.

“Easy”, the man smiles a cocky smile in reply, appreciating the playful hand still on him, toying with his buttons.

“Your unique fascination with mushrooms?” Hugh throws a reasonable guess, absently pushing open another button.

“ _Pfft_ , fuck that”, Paul dismisses the idea, “If you’d spent any time around my vocational peers, you’d realize it’s hardly a unique trait among such goons”.

“I can imagine”, Hugh chuckles for the thought of the example Paul and Justin alone have set on his perception of the mycologist kind.

“ **But** , suppose a universe where one of our counterparts were a female and the other a male”, Paul begins by painting a picture, his gaze travelling to the horizon and hands gesturing along the description, “I wouldn’t necessarily **care** to be homosexual in such reality”.

“Honey…”, Hugh laughs and rolls his eyes for the man’s seemingly disparate convolutions.

“Don’t you laugh: it’s a **lot** less ridiculous a thought, than the whole premise of one pan-universally defining character trait”, Paul shushes the ridicule.

“Okay, okay. But whom is which?” Hugh’s hand retreats as he crosses his arms on his knees and leans in intent to hearing his man out.

“What…? No!”, Paul despairs for the continued interruptions, “That’s irrelevant!”

“My **point** is…”, Paul points his finger at the doctor, who is visibly amused by the level of his honey’s seriousness with this thought play.

“The point **is** : I’d like to think, that in any such universe my counterpart would still love yours. Regardless”, Paul concludes his thought intently.

“Regardless?” Hugh’s absent mind asks quite besides himself, while his playful mirth quickly wades in midst of processing Paul’s words, finally starting to recognize the underlying affability.

“Regardless of what you were, regardless of what I was. Regardless of what have you…? Sex or sexuality”, Paul specifies in earnest, “If there was **one** defining quality to make _“me”_ me across all universes, I would like to think it would be the ability to recognize your kind of compassionate soul to the point of deep attraction - just as is the case here in this reality”.

“Regardless even, whether we were able to properly communicate, or fully exist on the same plane of consciousness”, Paul moves to the increasingly surreal side on the spectrum with his suppositions, while Hugh keeps staring at the man vacantly, perhaps mostly fooled by the apparent casualness with which Paul’s words get delivered, and struck speechless by their sincerity - touched by the man’s confounding love confessions, as soon as they sink in.

“I’m saying…”, Paul regards the man’s silence, unsure if he has still expressed the idea in clear enough manner, “I would have my love for you be my one universes transcending constant”.

Even, if it would be but one-sided, Paul finds himself certain. After all, who’s to say in all realities they’d even be compatible.

“No, honey… I… I got that. That’s…”, the doctor keeps nodding in quiet confirmation, thinking how behind the apparently most innate sounding rants there are such pure and romantic notions after all, “that’s beautiful”.

And on that thought Hugh’s head tilts to it’s familiar dewy-eyed look of affection. He can’t help but to smile adoringly at the charm of the man’s analytical mind on display. “You’re **utterly** hopeless, you know”, he nudges his intellectual.

Paul smirks at the man proudly. “Hopelessly **in love** ”, he quips, adopting his self-aware, almost mockingly smooth-talking voice.

Paul’s quite convinced himself by now, that his love for Hugh is the one thing to make him complete, and how he had been but a shell of a man before his Darling.

“Now who’s being sentimental”, Hugh smiles back jestingly, but wholly enamored by the man’s peculiar brand of sweetness.

It’s completely sappy and against all rationale, Paul admits to himself, but with his feelings for Hugh his objective mind and dependency on scientific principles get thrown out of an airlock - he finds his logic shattered, and impartiality challenged. And honestly, he does not care - surprising as that is -, but instead chooses to fully embrace the liberating feeling of letting go of reason.

With Hugh, Paul feels like he could not love anyone or anything else with such intensity. Regardless of time, regardless of infinite realms, regardless of form - with Hugh around, there’s only one true love for Paul, in any universe he can imagine. Logic be damned.

That’s not far from what faith is, is it? In this too, his love for Hugh has clearly taught him leniency to a degree previously unimaginable. For Paul to even spare such a thought.

“ _“Love beyond universes”_. That does sound nice”, Hugh ponders on the man’s words still, “but I wouldn’t want you compromising your principles on my account”.

“Already done”, Paul replies without hesitation, and finally gets up, dusting the clingy sand off his bare calves. He looks down on the man, and offers his hand to Hugh, “now, let’s go warm up”. “Perhaps by comparing our theories on _‘drive’_ in practice”, he winks.

“Cultivate your naturally given gifts, you mean?”, Hugh laughs affably, grabs the offered hand and gets up. “You had your chance for tonight”, he pats the man on the back and starts towards the cabin.

“You’ll have a full day of Starfleet Operations’ protocol studies at the Academy tomorrow!”, the doctor shouts over the wind, to remind the man few steps behind him now, “They will let you **nowhere** to _“hone your craft”_ , if you don’t know how to operate in accordance to the standardized Fleet procedures, Lieutenant”.

“Fuck me! That mind-numbing brain-washing again?”, Paul groans, catching up to the doctor sluggishly. “You’ve been trained, can’t you just home-school me?”, he suggests.

“Sure. If you can convince the Fleet”, Hugh snarks back affectionately.

“Maybe I **will**! I’m certain the two of us could discover some all new ways to boost learning”, Paul envisions with a delightedly amused voice, “such pleasant memory association methods it would be near impossible to forget a thing”.

“After which, all of Academy training will be conducted from the comfort of people’s bedrooms”, Paul adds, “…or on beaches. Or in bubble baths. Or studying hard against a kitchen counter? It’s a wonder we still bother with academies at all”.

Hugh laughs. “You irresistibly cerebral homo”.

“Like you don’t love it”, Paul smiles back, puts his arm around the man and appreciates the perfect feeling of belonging filling his soul as Hugh’s head rests against his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/186234993514/in-any-universe-a-months-old-illustration-to).
> 
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